


Feverish T'Challa ficlets

by Salamandersickfic



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: F/M, Fever, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Nakia is sympathetic... eventually, Sick Character, Sick T'Challa, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15391251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamandersickfic/pseuds/Salamandersickfic
Summary: A little light sickfic for the poor T'Challa, struggling with a fever under the Wakandan sun.Fills for two of the 'Fever in warm weather' prompts that can be found here: https://shelikescolds.tumblr.com/post/175224914280/fevers-in-warm-weather-promptsIt’s the same scenario written in two different ways, coming together for a shared epilogue. Enjoy!





	Feverish T'Challa ficlets

PROMPT 3.) Classic: Character A thinks it’s freezing out when it’s really hot, alerting Character B to how unwell they really are 

It is good to leave the city behind, even a city so wonderous as Birnin Zanda. The sight of Wakanda's rolling plains curling around the mountain passes is always a balm for T'Challa's soul- a country truly worth fighting for. Today he feels he could use it's healing effects yet the positive feelings of the view fail to reach his physical form. 

A breeze whispers against his skin and he draws his cloak closer around him, wracked by a convulsive shiver that raises the hair on his arms. Nakia doesn't seem to feel it. She is wearing a relaxed dress in a cool green, arms and much of her muscular back exposed.

“Do you think it's going to rain?” He asks.

“No, why?”

“I can feel a breeze.”

“It's nice. Fresh.” She smiles.

T'Challa wraps his hands across his upper arms for warmth. He watches the slight breeze tug at the hem of his lover's dress and winces sympathetically Nakia's bare shoulders.  
“Aren't you cold, my love?”

“Are you joking? It's not cold. You-” She laughs and then looks more closely. “Wow, you're really shivering.”

He shrugs, but his teeth catch and chatter together. He feels not only cold but dizzy and inexplicably weak. 

“Can we sit for a moment?” he asks.

“T'challa-” She goes after him, startled to see him slump so suddenly onto a fallen tree. Something isn't right. “What's the matter with you?” She asks, tenderness creeping in at the corners of her voice.

The man in question shrugs, gives her a half smile through another shiver.  
“Cold.”

The king sits still for a moment, head hanging as though it is suddenly too heavy. He looks pale. His shoulders catch in a series of tight little coughs and afterward his fist hovers in front of his chest, anticipating more. Her poor love. Her heart twists.

When Nakia kneels before him to take his face in her hands,she feels fever-heat radiating under her palms.

“You're running a fever. No wonder you're chilled. T'Challa... why didn't you say something?”

He shrugs again, but leans forwaerd into the comfort of her fingeers.She smoothes them back towards his hairline in that way he likes.

“Hm, that's good.” 

“It'll be better when you're resting. Come on, you crazy man, I'm taking you home.” 

PROMPT 2.) Character A thinks they have a fever, but Character B is convinced they’re fine and thinks they’re just being a wimp because it’s hot out and keeps brushing their complaints about feeling poorly off 

It is good to leave the city behind, even a city so wonderous as Birnin Zanda. The sight of Wakanda's rolling plains curling around the mountain passes is always a balm for T'Challa's soul- a country truly worth fighting for. Today he feels he could use it's healing effects yet the positive feelings of the view fail to reach his physical form. The sun is a little past midday and a light breeze plays across his skin but he feels uncomfortably warm. No amount of fanning his face or forcing cold water down his raw throat can shake the heat that seems to radiate from the inside. 

Nakia has walked a little ahead. Her gaze scours the landscape like that of a lioness assessing her territory and finding it good. For once she is paying less attention to her king. T'Challa admires her pace but has to drag up the effort to catch up with her.

“Nakia why are you in such a hurry?”

“T'Challa why are you so slow?” She echoes without turning round. “Come.”

“Wait.” He joins her and catches her arm. Now her gaze is on him, he feels suddenly shy and stumbles for the words. “I'm too hot. I need a break.”

“It's not so hot.” Nakia shrugs. When he continues fanning his face, tugging at the collar of his tunic, she rolls her eyes. 

“Don't laugh at your king. I feel like I'm running a fever.”

“Pfft, you can't take the heat of your own country!” She teases. “You are turning into an American from all the time you spend there.”

“Maybe it's nothing.” He concedes. He gives his head a shake to clear it, and is greeted by a flash of pain that makes him grit his teeth.

They walk on a little further. The King and his consort usually walk in step, accutely attuned to each other's bodies from fighting and loving together. Today it's a struggle. T'Challa is trying to ignore the heat he feels radiating from the back of his neck. It is almost a relief when he suddenly runs cold, a sensation like water down his spine making him shudder. When the cold doesn't ease and he starts to shiver in the midday sun, Nakia turns to face him.

“Are you shivering now?”

He nods, gritting his teeth so they don't chatter. That would be unkingly.

“I told you I didn't feel well. I think-” 

“Come here.” Nakia interrupts him with an embrace that brings their foreheads together so that she too can feel the heat of him, like trapped embers under his perfect skin. “Ok, so you have a fever,” she sighs.

He nods, leans his face into the softness of her neck. It's dark in here, and it feels better when she's holding him. 

“Oh T'Challa, you're burning up. How long have you felt like this?”

“I don't know. A few hours. It doesn't matter, I can-”

“You can come and rest. I'm sorry my love. Let's go back.”

…........................

EPILOGUE

In the palace at Birnin Zanda the air is cool and sweet, perfectly regulated. Nakia moves through the King's private suite as silently as she can, which for a warrior and spy, is very quietly indeed. Her dress rustles slightly and her bare feet whisper on the marble floor. It is not enough to wake the man who lies sleeping in his canopied bed.

T'Challa looks pale. His full mouth is drawn tight and a little frown marks creases between his brow, which is slick with sweat. Nakia swallows down her worry. Her love looks awful, but the healers have assured her it is only a run-of-the-mill virus, probably passed to him through contact with the outside world. Thanks, America, she grumbles inwardly.

It is only when she sits on the bed and cups her palm at his cheek, that he wakes. 

“Hi.” He manages a smile.

“Hi.” She replies, kissing his brow. It is still too, too warm. “How are you feeling?”

T'Challa raises his head from his bed and actually looks around to see if anyone else is in the room before he whispers to Nakia, “Not so good.” 

“Is there anything I can do?”

He has to turn and cough for a few minutes before he can answer. He smothers them with a fist but his body folds in on itself like a book and his shoulders shake. Nakia can feel the force of it through the mattress. T'Challa feels her hand at his back, rubbing soothingly until the fit passes. Her hand is pleasantly cool. 

“You don't have to stop.” He sighs when she makes to withdraw her hand.

“Alright them. Can you move up?” 

Gentle hands coax him to one side of the bed. The next thing he knows, Nakia is beside him under the covers, all gauzey cloth pushed back and strong limbs fitting perfectly around his own. He lets out a deep sigh he hadn't know he was holding, and buries his face in her neck.

Nakia has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling. He is so soft right now, nuzzling into her for warmth with hot breaths against her skin. His too-fast pulse summons shakey gasps that are almost like sobs. He is rarely like this, and it is in itself a kind of blessing. She feels the hairs on his limbs raise and he shivers, seeking her warmth.

“You're warm,” he murmurs.

“So are you. Much too warm.”

“I don't feel it.” He grumbles. 

“Don't worry, you will. Give it half an hour.” She says, easing the dark humour with a kiss to his forehead.

T'Challa just closes his eyes again. His body is rebelling and he feels as though someone is sitting on his chest, but with Nakia's arms it is impossible not to fall asleep.

…. 

END


End file.
